


Sympathy for the Dragon

by HeavyShoegaze



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Muggle, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Female Harry Potter, Hate to Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-15
Updated: 2018-09-15
Packaged: 2019-07-12 14:31:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15997166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeavyShoegaze/pseuds/HeavyShoegaze
Summary: Draco Malfoy has been in love with his arch-rival, Harriet Potter, for the better part of five years. Behind his bickering and petty spats, the torch he's carried for her has only burned stronger each year. But there's nothing he can do right?That's what Draco thinks, but when Hermione Granger finds out what Draco feels for her best friend, will she help him finally get the girl of his dreams?





	Sympathy for the Dragon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco Malfoy and Harriet Potter meet for the first time.
> 
> She doesn't like him very much.

Chapter 1: How it Began

 

If you asked Draco Malfoy what the worst day of his life was, he’d definitely say the day his ferret ran away. Hyperion was always an obedient creature – Draco fed him on time and he would take Hyperion out of his cage for the requisite hour of cuddles every day. His mother and father had warned him that ferrets were difficult to raise and required a great deal of _responsibility_ and _maturity_ , but Draco was insistent that he was ready. He loved that ferret from the day they met in the pet store, and Draco could remember the day he’d come back from primary school with a pocketful of acorns to decorate Hyperion’s home… only to find the cage empty and the door open.

Draco had accepted his father’s admonition that _he_ was responsible for Hyperion’s disappearance, but in hindsight his father’s snake had looked _particularly_ well-fed that day.

Of course, Draco would never tell you of that day. Malfoys didn’t show weakness. But all the same, there were days when Draco missed Hyperion’s companionable silence and the way he listened without interrupting or judging you. He could have used that kind of friend for the first day of secondary school.

Because if the day he lost Hyperion was the worst day of his life, then the first day of secondary school was a close second.

Because that was the day he met Harriet Potter.

 

_Five years ago_

Draco first saw her come off the bus next to Weasley as his father dropped him off in the front of H.W. Secondary School. Harriet Potter was a short, skinny girl with a messy mop of jet-black hair and big circular glasses that looked more like glass bottles than eyewear. From the look of her, you’d never guess her father was a gracefully retired football legend who’d helped win his club seven championship cups and country two World Cups. James Potter, footballer turned philanthropist, was a national hero, Britain’s beloved son, and Draco had even had a poster of the man on his wall – at least, until his father sneered at him and took it down. Lucius Malfoy wasn’t a fan of people of color.

But Harriet Potter didn’t look too much like her father. She had her father’s unruly mop and horrendous eyesight, but where her father was tall and dark, she was short and pale. And when she turned around, Draco saw the most brilliant shade of green in her irises. For a moment, Draco was spellbound.

“Is that a Weasley?” Lucius sneered – he did that a lot. His voice was thick with a malicious humor as he looked at the redheaded boy. “Of course it is. Orange hair, freckles, and more children than they can afford. Go on Draco,” Lucius said, urging Draco out of the car, “and remember not to associate with rubbish like _that_.”

With that Draco watched his father drive off, the gaudy black sports car leaving the school’s parking lot very much over the speed limit. He tried to keep a stiff upper lip, but all he could think about was the tall, imposing school building behind him. He felt the heft of his designer shoulder bag and wanted to go home. Draco dipped a hand in his pocket and felt his cell phone vibrate. He pulled it out and saw his mother had messaged him

 

**_Mother: Have a wonderful day at school, little Dragon! :):):)_ **

 

Draco smiled slightly at his mother’s use of emojis – his father wouldn’t be caught dead texting like that. It was comforting, and he felt a little better.

“Hello there,” a voice said behind him. Draco turned around the first thing he saw were mesmerizing green eyes. “Are you alright?” Draco was dazed and didn’t respond, and impatiently, the girl thrust her hand at him. “I’m Harry Potter… well, my name’s Harriet, but you can call me Harry. And this is Ron Weasley,” she gestured to the redhead next to her. Draco noticed that there was something on his nose. His brain clicked at the boy’s name – _Weasley_ – and he remembered his father’s words.

“Weasley?” Draco scoffed, sneering at the boy. Draco noticed that his clothes were ill-fitting and his shoes were dirty – _his_ mother would never let him leave the house looking like that. “Where’d you get those clothes? I need to replace the lining on my ferret’s cage.” Draco had to laugh at how red the boy’s face turned at that – he looked like a tomato with orange hair. He turned to the girl, _Harriet Potter_. “The name is Draco Malfoy. You should associate with the right sort of people. I can help you there.” He reached to shake her hand only for her to pull away in disgust.

“I think I can determine the right sort for myself, thanks,” she said coldly, pulling Weasley along. “Come on, Ron, we’re going to be late.” Weasley blew a raspberry at Draco as he passed, and Draco grimaced as the spit hit his face.

“Who is that?” Gregory Goyle said, jogging up to Draco’s side. Vincent Crabbe was a little slower, standing opposite Goyle.

“Nobody,” Draco said dismissively, ignoring the way his heart sank at the sight of the back of Harriet Potter’s head as she walked in, not even turning back to spare him a glance.

 

Draco made it to Chemistry early and found his seat at the back of the class. Greg Goyle sat on one side and Crabbe cracked his knuckles meaningfully until the boy on the other side, a plump, sweaty kid who stammered pathetically, stumbled out of his seat and moved as far from the three as he could. Draco laced his fingers behind and leaned back, enjoying the sight of the boy panicking. _Nibble_ , or something, that’s what the boy said his name was, not that it mattered. Draco tried to see where Nibble had run off to, but his view was blocked by a large afro sitting down right in front of him.

“Hey,” Draco hissed. “Get out of my way. I can’t see!”

“So, you’re Malfoy,” the boy in front of Draco mused. He turned around and Draco saw that he had dark skin and eyes that scanned from Goyle to Draco to Crabbe.

“Of course I am. Who are you?” Draco scoffed. To his left, Goyle puffed himself threateningly, but the boy just rolled his eyes.

“Blaise Zabini,” he said dryly. “My father works with yours.” _Zabini_ , that name sparked something in Draco’s memory. His father _did_ know a Zabini. _‘One of the good ones,'_ Lucius had said of Hassan Zabini. Draco took that to mean that Blaise was one of the right sort, unlike Weasley.

“Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Zabini,” Draco said politely. Blaise laughed and shook his head.

“Fuck, you even _talk_ like your dad,” he said. “So, _Mr. Malfoy_ , did ya meet Potter?” he asked, jerking his head to where Potter sat in the front. Draco could see Weasley’s orange hair on one side and the bushy mane of some girl he didn’t know on the other. Draco assumed that girl was another of Potter’s charity cases – Potter had apparently taken in both Weasley and Nibble, or whatever his name was.

“I did. What about her?” Draco dismissed.

“You know who her father is?” Blaise asked incredulously. “James Potter? _James fucking Potter_. Bloke’s the greatest British footballer of all time – and his family is loaded too. I heard she plays.”

“Football?” Draco asked.

“No, she flies on brooms and throws balls into bloody hoops – of course I mean football,” Blaise said sarcastically. Draco bristled at his tone, but Blaise ignored him and kept speaking. “I have a friend who went to Primary with her. She’s supposed to be a damn good striker.”

“We don’t have a girl’s team, though,” Draco pointed out, remembering his father telling him that the girl’s team had been canned. Lack of interest, or so he had said, though Draco wasn’t a bloody girl, so he didn’t really care.

“No we don’t,” Blaise agreed, turning forwards as the teacher stalked in. Draco knew Severus Snape since childhood, and he smirked when the sour man met his eyes. This would be an easy class.

“Quiet,” Mr. Snape barked, giving his students an evil eye. “You sit here, with your glazed eyes and attention-poor minds watching the clock and caring more about your frivolous worries than about the knowledge contained in your books. But for the precious few of you who _do_ follow along, you shall unlock the secrets of the universe inside these four walls. I shall teach you nothing less than mastery of yourself and the world around you. Those of you with the foresight to follow my words will _rule_ this world, one atom at a time.” Draco had to roll his eyes at Snape’s exaggeration – he was teaching eleven-year-olds basic chemistry, for God’s sake. “I will call attendance now.” He read off the names, marking when students raised their hands. Draco noticed that the girl next to Potter answered to _Hermione Granger_ and “Nibble” was actually _Neville Longbottom_. “Draco,” Snape said, nodding to Draco. It was only at the P’s that Snape paused for a second.

“…Potter,” he muttered darkly. There was a quiet as no one moved, before Potter raised her hand hesitantly.

“Er… do you mean me?” she asked uncertainly. Snape pinned her down with a harsh glare.

“Are you Potter?” he asked, as if she was stupid.

“I am, I guess… I go by Harry, er… Harriet,” Potter said, shifting uncomfortably as Snape stalked over to stand right in front of her.

“I should have expected this… _insubordination_ … from you, Potter,” Snape sneered down at her, “but I am not so _starstruck_ that I would let you disrupt _my_ class.”

“Er… Sorry, sir?” Potter said awkwardly. Snape sneered at her one last time before turning around dramatically and stalking to the board. He grabbed a piece of chalk and started writing furiously, a long, ungodly equation taking up most of the board.

“What the hell? He didn’t finish the roll call,” Blaise muttered, grabbing a blue notebook and copying Snape’s writing. “Shouldn’t you be writing this down?” he asked Draco.

“Snape will give it to me later,” Draco sniffed. “My father says so.”

The door swung open and a girl rushed in, her face red from running.

“Sorry!” she squeaked. “There was traffic… and…” She stopped at Snape’s face, which had contorted itself into an ugly sneer.

“Get. Out.” he hissed, the words dripping like venom from a viper’s fangs. He looked more snake than man.

“But…”

“Get. Out.” Snape snapped, louder than before. The girl turned and bolted out the door, and Draco couldn’t help but laugh at the abject terror on her face as she fled. His laugh drew Potter’s attention, and they locked eyes. Potter glared at him for a moment, her lips pursing in anger. She was about to say something when Snape snapped at her.

“Pay attention, Potter, or you can join her.” Draco snickered even louder at that. “Or perhaps you think you don’t need to be here. Tell me, Potter, what is this equation?” Potter looked like a deer in headlights as she looked at the multi-board long equation in front of her. Next to her, the Granger girl’s hand shot up, waving frantically to catch Snape’s attention. “Well? Or is the great _Harriet Potter_ not quite as smart as she thinks she is?”

“I don’t know, sir,” Potter said quietly. “I think you should ask Hermione.” The girl in question waved her hand desperately, and Draco had to wonder if she _did_ actually know the answer. Snape ignored her, though, and glowered at Potter.

“I suggest, Potter, that you shrink your head and fill it with something other than flies and mush for once. Arrogance and dumb luck will only get you so far, and to succeed in this class, you will need to actually _know something_.” Draco started cackling at that, bursting into peals of laughter. All the students turned to stare at him, then back at Snape when the sour teacher acted like he didn’t hear Draco at all.

“Well?! Take notes, you dolts!” he growled, and every student scrambled to pull out their books.

 

 

The rest of the day didn’t progress _quite_ as spectacularly. Draco found Maths and Literature boring as piss and the closest he came to seeing Potter was during lunch, when he not-so-subtly bumped her, knocking her cup of orange juice down the front of her shirt. Weasley and Longbottom had almost gotten into a fight with Crabbe and Goyle in anger, and a teacher had to separate the four, promising detentions and worse if they continued to scrap in the cafeteria.

It was a pity – Draco thought a pair of black eyes would have rather suited the two idiots.

After school, Draco nearly walked to where his father would pick him up before remembering that the football team was hosting tryouts. He’d all but begged his father to let him try out – and maybe to pull some strings and get him on the team. He found the bathroom and changed into shorts and a t-shirt, better clothes for football than his impeccably pressed school uniform, before taking to the field with the other hopefuls.

Draco sent off a text to his mother, letting her know that the tryouts would start soon. Almost immediately, he got a response.

 

**_Mother:_ **

**_Good Luck!!_ **

**_You’re going to do wonderful! I know it!_ **

**_I’ll be there to watch!_ **

 

Draco grinned, feeling more confident already.

Oliver Wood, the captain, stood in the near goal stretching his arms and legs. There was a bag of footballs beside him as he talked with one of the older players.

“Think we’ll take the World Cup this year?” the other boy asked Wood.

“Take the cup?!” Wood asked incredulously. “We’ll be lucky to make it out of Groups this year. The National team’s shite without Potter.”

“You and Potter, Ollie,” the boy laughed. “Makes me wonder if you’re sucking his-”

“Language, Marcus,” Wood laughed, nodding with his head to where the younger kids started coming in. “And it’s _James bleedin’ Potter_! If he’d stuck around we’d have another cup, easily. Why’d he have to retire. He had ten more years in him, I guarantee it.”

“Something about wanting to spend more time with his kid, I think,” the boy – Marcus – said, rolling his eyes as if to say that he didn’t think that was a valid reason to quit your career. Draco had to agree. _His_ father wouldn’t drop his work for anything.

“Imagine though. That kids gonna be the greatest footballer ever. I swear.”

“Come on, Ollie,” Marcus said. “We’ve got a lot of kids this time. We should start now or we’ll be here all night.”

Figuring it was never to early to make a good impression, Draco strutted over to introduce himself, trying to look as confident and self-assured as his father did. It was his misfortune, though, that before he could say anything Wood addressed the group of boys.

“Alright, everyone. I’m Oliver Wood. I’m the goalkeeper and captain of the team. Thank you all for coming and we’ll start soon… excuse me, but these are the tryouts for the boy’s team,” he said to someone on the very end. Draco and the other boys looked to see… _Harriet Potter_.

“Go home, Potty-brains,” Draco sneered, getting a few laughs from other boys. “This isn’t a place for girls.” Oliver scowled at him before turning back to Potter.

“Please let me try out for the team,” Potter pleaded to Oliver. “There’s no girls’ team, and I just want to play football. More than anything. Please just give me a shot. I promise I’ll do my best!” Draco waited for Potter to bring up her famous footballing father – _that_ would convince Wood to give her a spot on the team, no questions asked. Hell, Wood would probably drop to one knee and propose.

“What’s your name, kid?” Marcus asked, sharing a glance with Wood.

“Harry – _Harriet_ ,” Potter said quietly. “Harriet Potter.” Wood’s eyebrows rose slightly at her surname.

“Potter, eh? That’s a fun coincidence. Ever hear of James Potter?” he asked curiously.

“Yeah,” Potter said, blushing slightly. “He’s my…” _father_ , Draco completed in his head, grinding his teeth. “…he’s my favorite football player of all time. I want to be just like him.”

Draco gawked at Potter, stunned. If _his_ father was Wood’s favorite footballer, you could bet he’d milk that for all its worth.

“You have good taste,” Wood said approvingly. “He’s the best who ever lived.” Potter nodded slightly, looking at her shoes. “Alright, _Harry Potter_ . You can try out.” Marcus shrugged, as if to say _Why not. What’s the worst that could happen?_

Draco knew what the worst would be, but he dismissed it. Potter was a _girl_ . There’s no way she’d do anything but embarrass herself, and that would be _hilarious_ to watch.

“Mids, go with Walter,” Wood said, pointing to a lanky boy who was sitting on the ground. “Defenders with Marcus.” Half of the hopefuls followed the two, the other half stayed with Wood – Draco and Potter included. “So, you’re all looking to be strikers?” Oliver asked. Everyone nodded. “Alright,” he grinned. “We always get a lot of strikers. You should know that there’s only one starting spot available, and two reserves. So, y’know, do your best, but don’t feel so down if you don’t make the cut.” He said this to everyone, but his eyes lingered on Potter, as if to warn her _don’t be sad if you can't compete with the boys_. Potter nodded, stretching her legs.

“Brilliant,” he clapped. “We’ll take PK’s. Get in line and take two each.” Oliver strapped his keeper gloves and rolled his neck. “Don’t worry if you don’t make any in. I’ve been doing this for a long time!” He grinned as everyone rushed into line. Draco noticed that Potter was in the very back, the last one in line. She didn’t have a chance.

Smugly, Draco walked right to the front of the line, sneering at the boy who was already there.

“Er… alright then,” Oliver said, a little disapproving. “I appreciate your… _enthusiasm_.” He rolled a ball to Draco, who caught it with his feet. “You get two shots. Take the first one whenever you’re ready.” Draco smirked and took a few steps back. He could feel the eyes on him as he ran up to the ball and kicked it at the top left corner.

The ball blasted towards that part of the net, but Wood was faster and blocked it easily. Draco cursed inwardly as someone rolled him another ball.

“That was a good kick,” Wood said encouragingly, though Draco ignored him, glowering at the ball at his feet. “Give it another try.”

Draco huffed and kicked as hard as he could, aiming for the right this time. Wood dove, but mostly out of formality. The ball went wide, far past the post.

Draco’s cheeks burned at the snickers at that shot. _As if any of them could do better_ ! he thought darkly, storming off the side to sulk. Draco sat down on the grass, feeling tears in the corners of his eyes as the next boy started taking his shots. He picked up his bag and reached for his phone, hoping his mother would take him home. _Football is stupid anyways_ , he thought angrily, texting his mother.

 

**_Mother:_ **

**_You did so well, Draco!_ **

**_I’m so proud of you!!_ **

 

Draco wondered if his mother had confused him for another Draco Malfoy, but he looked up and saw his mother standing next to her car in the parking lot.

 

**_I was horrible, Mother._ **

**_I didn’t make a single goal!_ **

 

Draco watched his mother read his texts. She looked at her phone, typing out a message, and soon enough Draco’s phone vibrated again.

 

**_Mother:_ **

**_This is your first year, Draco._ **

**_Nobody else is scoring either._ **

**_And you did well, don’t forget it._ **

 

Draco looked back to the line of boys. Sure enough, no one else had scored on Wood. Some kicked harder than others, but everyone had failed to score even a single goal. He laughed as a boy barely hit it and Oliver stopped the shot with his foot.

He felt a little better after that. Maybe he _did_ have a shot. He was certainly better than any of these boys.

Draco watched as the line got shorter and shorter, with each boy taking their shots. For an hour and a half, he watched Wood block every shot, and he smirked at their disappointed faces as the talked to the side. Finally, Harriet Potter stepped up to take her shot.

At this point, everyone stopped what they were doing to watch the girl who thought she was good enough to play with the boys. Draco looked back to his mother and saw a man on a motorcycle pull up. The man seemed reluctant to park next to Draco’s mother, but there were no other parking spots available, so he didn’t have a choice.

The man wore a leather jacket and black jeans, and Draco could see what looked like tattoo sleeves peeking out from under the leather. He removed his helmet and shook out shoulder-length black hair, which he started tying behind his head. The black sunglasses he wore hid his eyes from Draco's view. He looked like the exact opposite of Draco’s father. Draco’s mother seemed not to like the man, and the sentiment was _definitely_ returned. While the two gave each other equally frosty cold shoulders, Draco turned back to where Potter was about to take her first shot, wondering who the man was here for.

Potter looked down and closed her eyes, whispering something to herself as she hopped on the balls of her feet. Draco waited for her to choke under the pressure. She took a step back, looking at Wood. Draco could see her eyes dart to the top-left corner, where Draco had aimed. _She's easy to read_ , he thought. He smirked as she ran and kicked the ball, watching Wood dive…

And his jaw hit the grass when the ball sailed to the right and into the corner of the goal, the netting catching the ball for the first time that day.

Everyone was silent, the man on the motorcycle whistling loudly the only sound anyone made. Wood sat dumbly for a second before jumping to his feet and tossing her the ball.

“Do that again, Potter!” he shouted as she caught the ball, bouncing it on her foot a few times. Potter had a wide grin now, and Draco could see her green eyes glitter from behind her messy fringe and thick glasses. She took a deep breath and took another penalty kick, this time netting it in the bottom left corner.

After the second shot, even the boys around Draco started cheering loudly, happy to see _someone_ beat Wood.

“How the blazes are you that good?” Wood asked incredulously. Potter grinned impishly.

“My dad taught me,” she replied, and understanding dawned on Oliver Wood. “And my dad’s the best who ever lived.”

The keeper grinned in excitement, making Potter take more penalty kicks. Draco could see her growing more confident, and she started to show off her foot work before each shot.

It took ten shots before Wood finally blocked one, but by then it was obvious what he was going to say next.

“You’re on the team, Harry,” Wood said, clapping her on the shoulder. “Bloody hell, you’re on the team! We’ll have to get you something to wear instead of those bottles on your head, but… wow….” He turned to Draco and the others. “Draco Malfoy and Michael Corner will be the reserves. Everyone else, thank you so much for trying out!” He whispered a few more things to Potter, who pointed to another man who stood next to the one with the motorcycle and walked away, leaving Draco speechless. Draco watched as Granger and Weasley ran onto the field to congratulate Potter, and his blood boiled.

“How can she be on the team?” he said loudly. “She’s a bloody _girl_!”

Immediately, Potter whirled around to face him. “What does that have to do with _anything_ , Malfoy,” she shot back.

“Everything,” Draco said, turning his nose up at her. “Football is for _boys_. That’s why they got rid of the girls’ team. So you can’t play. That’s what my father will say.”

“Bugger off, Malfoy,” Weasley said, slinging an arm across Potter’s shoulders. “You’re just mad that Harry’s better at football than you and none of your dad’s money will change that.”

“At least my family _has_ money, Weaselby,” Draco sneered. Weasley turned bright red, but Potter held him back.

“Ignore him, Ron,” Granger said from behind Potter. “Let Malfoy be bitter if that's he wants.” Potter and Weasley listened to her and turned away from Draco. “I’m so proud of you, Harry!” Granger said happily. “I knew you could do it! We should celebrate!”

“Hey! I was speaking to you, Potter!” Draco said, balling his fists.

“No one cares, Malfoy,” Weasley said, sticking his tongue out at him. He turned back to where Potter and Granger were making plans for that evening.

To say it bothered Draco would be putting it _extremely_ lightly. It pissed him off, the way Potter ignored him, the way she seemed to have best friends on the _first day_ of school when all Draco had were Crabbe and Goyle and that Zabini guy. It was infuriating that she thought she was so much better than him, that she could take his spot on the football team and refuse his friendship. Who did she think she was, this skinny girl with huge glasses and messy hair? _No one ignores me!_ Without thinking, Draco stomped over and grabbed a lock of her jet-black hair…

…and the next thing he knew, he was laying on his back, looking up at Potter standing over him, her breath heavy, her fist clenched, and her green eyes blazing with anger. Draco felt something wet under his nose, and when he touched his nose his fingers came away red. _She punched me_! he thought. Potter looked like she wanted to say something, but thought better of it and walked away, taking a shocked Granger and grinning Weasley with her as she walked to the parking lot.

Draco watched her leave without looking back, still laying on the grass in shock.

 

So if you asked Draco, his first day could have gone better.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is my first Modern Au! I hope you think the concept is interesting! It's pretty light and fluffy, with only a bit of angst. I've been working on some darker stuff, so this is a nice kind of break.
> 
> I guess I decided that racism would be a good sort of transposition for Lucius Malfoy's wizarding elitism. I mean, the Death eaters are basically magic Nazis, so I think it's a comparison that works. I probably won't get all that political, since God knows it seems hard to get away from politics these days. But just in case any of you read the line "he was one of the good ones" and thought I was a piece of shit, that's why I wrote it. Because Lucius Malfoy is a piece of shit. That's also why I've messed with the ethnicities of some characters. I don't normally do that, but I thought it made sense in this context.
> 
> FYI, I'm an American, so please bear with me as I stumble through british culture. I'm essentially writing a story about British teenagers, so when I inevitably mess up with how they speak or something, please let me know! I'm always open to hearing how I can improve as a writer and how I can make my work better!!
> 
> Also, I'm not totally married to the format I have of characters texting each other. Some other users do neat things with photoshop and images, but I'm not nearly that rad lol. Sorry.
> 
> As always, let me know what you think!!


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